Greek Salad

An heirloom tomato chopped not sliced a scarlet

daylily unfurled—page 27 of La physiologie du goût

in english translation the evening star blooming yellow this

Independence Day & yellow fireworks gesticulating

broadly over Indian Valley a butter-yellow

daylily unfurled—we were walking home from the

end of the world up the dirt road it’s only a

quarter of a mile roughly—a cucumber sliced

unpeeled tho—everything’s raw this evening

                                                                        another evening

the fog rolling southward along Divisidero it was

curtains sewn from cigarette smoke a greek

salad to go from the pizzeria on the corner at

Fulton—the raw raw lonesome air—

                                                                        another evening

the dogwoods budding whitely the smoke from a

Lucky Strike swirling hopeless thru the Virginia twilight the

sliced red onion the pale magenta

daylily unfurled in the garden this afternoon my

life a salad of recollections & flowers—a white plate a

white page speckled with words a white

daylily unfurled—the salad seasoned with

salt ground pepper oregano

                                                                        another evening

drinking Rolling Rock & heartbroken in Vermont a

kid only a kid really the purple sky’s a

bruise above the purple lake a purple

daylily unfurled this afternoon—crumbled

feta & pitted Kalamatas—it’s taken

52 years so far – these daylilies

unfurl briefly—they say Brillat-Savarin

dying left the world like a satisfied diner—

tho we’re walking back downhill

tho the sky’s folding its blue-violet petals

Jack Hayes

© 2010